


everybody, please believe I'm fine

by asexualrey



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Love, Sickfic, a tiny sprinkle of angst, mostly wholesome sisterly caretaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 15:53:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16098869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexualrey/pseuds/asexualrey
Summary: If there was going to be a day for this to happen, itwouldhappen to be this day. Soren wakes up to a dark, cloudy sky, cold rain pattering against the window, and a splitting headache.





	everybody, please believe I'm fine

**Author's Note:**

> gotta torture soren now, i guess

If there was going to be a day for this to happen, it _would_ happen to be this day. Soren wakes up to a dark, cloudy sky, cold rain pattering against the window, and a splitting headache. He doesn’t realize how bad it is until he sits up in bed only to have a bolt of pain spear through his skull. He drops his head into his hands with a hiss and pushes the heels of his palms into his eyes. It takes too long for the throb to lessen enough to look up again, and when he does, it becomes apparent that the headache isn’t the only discomfort plaguing him at the moment. Pressure is already building in his sinuses, and his throat is itchy and sore when he swallows. 

Soren freezes. Is he… Is he _sick?_ He can’t remember the last time he’s felt this way. 

He groans in frustration and rakes a hand through sleep-matted hair. _Is this because I didn’t wash my hands with soap before lunch a few days ago…?_ Or maybe it’s the universe’s way of getting back at him for laughing at Claudia that one time when she fudged a spell and accidentally gave herself a rash. 

Either way, a cold can’t get in the way of his responsibilities. He’s a strong, tough guy. In all honesty he thought he was beyond getting sick at all. The last time he was ill was…probably as a child. There was one instance in his early teen years when he had an allergic reaction to some weird edible plant he ate on a dare, but he doesn’t really count that. 

It’s weird that he’s suddenly experiencing these symptoms now, when his body is in such excellent condition. _Guess it can’t be helped._ The day has to go on, and he can’t spend it in bed. 

He skips breakfast. Out of all the days to do so, this is probably the worst one, but he can’t really seem to work up an appetite. In fact, the thought of porridge or pastries makes him a little nauseous. That’s also unusual, but he doesn’t dwell on it. He’ll make up for it with a large lunch—surely he’ll be feeling better by then. 

The castle seems draftier than normal and his armor sits heavy on his shoulders when he puts it on. His muscles ache as he reaches up to secure his pauldron. He willfully ignores it. 

Claudia catches up to him in the corridor on his way out to meet with the rest of his troop. “Mornin,’ Sor-bear!” she says loudly, running up to his side. “I didn’t see you at breakfast!”

Soren tries not to wince when the volume of her voice causes another spike of pain in his head. “Uh, yeah. I didn’t really feel like breakfast today, so.”

“You…didn’t feel like breakfast? That’s weird.” She reaches up and pokes his cheek gently. “You feel like breakfast to me!”

He only laughs softly in reply. 

Claudia frowns. “You okay, Sor-bear? You seem…quiet.”

“Ah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He smiles, internally grimacing at how utterly unconvincing he sounds. “Just a little tired. Didn’t sleep well, I guess.”

His sister purses her lips and places a hand on his shoulder. “Then take it easy today, okay? You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Including Dad.”

Soren starts a little at that. He and Claudia have always been close—closer than most siblings, he thinks—and sometimes it seems like she can read his mind. Truthfully, he’s not entirely convinced that she can’t, since magic doesn’t make much sense to him. It can be a little unnerving. And Claudia is terrifyingly smart and perceptive when she wants to be. 

And, well, maybe it’s a _little_ bit true that he carries himself like he’s got something to prove. But when you’re the youngest member of the king’s army, _ever_ , and the son of the High Mage, it’s hard not to feel pressured. Eyes are on him all the time, and no matter how skilled he is with a blade, he can’t help but wonder if people look down on him for not being talented with magic. And by people, he specifically means his father. Not that Viren has ever given him much reason to think he’s disappointed in his lack of magical ability, but when Soren watches him and Claudia together, he can’t stop the idea from passing through his mind. 

He’s never admitted that before. It’s just a nagging little thought that he usually stuffs deep, deep down under bravado and confidence, and that works pretty well. 

Damn Claudia for bringing that up _now._ Damn her for noticing it in the first place. Soren is not _insecure_. That’s just not a thing. And he certainly doesn’t think this deeply about things. Feelings and emotions and worrying about not meeting expectations are not a part of who he is. 

“I’m not—I don’t—” Damn it. He stutters to a stop as his face screws up, and before he can stop it, he sneezes. Forcefully. The ache behind his face flares and he groans. 

“Bless you!” Claudia says, surprised. 

_Shit_. Soren sniffles wetly, dragging the back of his hand under his nose. “Thanks.” 

His sister comes to stand in front of him and crosses her arms. “I’m serious, Soren. Don’t push yourself today.”

With one last sniff, he straightens up and puts on his best smirk. “I’m _fine_ , Claudia. I’m not gonna keel over or anything.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, but then cracks a smile and shakes her head. “Okay, well, I’ll be around. If you happen to need anything.”

He smiles back and nods before turning and continuing on his way. 

—

Training is… Well, it goes a _lot_ worse than he had anticipated. The floodgates open ten minutes in and he's instantly soaked through, and training in wet gear is miserable enough on its own. But on top of that, his armor is so heavy and each swing of his sword takes herculean effort. He doesn’t understand. He’s _never_ had this much trouble. Armor isn’t light, exactly, but it’s never weighed him down like this, even while wet. He’s never struggled so much to get his footwork right. His movements are sluggish and clumsy and it takes far more concentration than it ever should merely to keep his balance while his sparring partner deals offensive blows. And despite the constant movement, he's _freezing_. Courtesy of the rain.

It’s when he’s finally knocked on his ass that he admits to needing a break. He stows the wooden training sword and makes his way to the water pump around the corner of the courtyard, where he takes a moment to press his forearm to the wall and rest his head on it. His body is so weak and drained of energy. He definitely shouldn’t have skipped breakfast, but even now the thought of eating makes him feel ill. 

He growls in frustration. This is so inconvenient. 

A cough suddenly bursts from his throat, forceful and dry. He’s been having the urge to cough since he got his heart-rate up, but hasn’t allowed himself more than a quick clearing of his throat until now. Now, the cough completely takes over and his lungs heave as he hacks, feeling how much the illness is settling into his throat and chest and head. 

Why can’t the day just be _over_ already? 

No sooner had the thought entered his head than a distant clock chimes twelve, and he groans again as the coughing tapers off. Lunchtime. And then he’s supposed to have swordplay training with the step-prince. He usually enjoys being Callum’s instructor, even if the kid is no good with a blade, but today just thinking about training is exhausting. 

That, and he still isn’t hungry. Either he forces himself to eat and potentially vomits from it, or he continues on with an empty stomach and drains what little energy he has left and pray that he can keep pulling strength from _somewhere._

Neither option sounds good. 

Technically he _could_ always admit to not feeling well and take the rest of the day off, but that’s not going to happen. 

He pushes himself upright and takes off for the training ground again. But after a few steps, the blood suddenly drains from his head and his legs lose strength completely. He stumbles to the wall again, feels his shoulder slam against it as his vision starts spinning and morphing into bright shapes and a rushing sound fills his ears. For a few moments, he’s completely cut off from the world and his own body as he can’t see or hear, and can only feel a dull tingling, trembling sensation. 

When he finally comes back to himself, he’s lying slumped on his side in the grass not five feet from the water pump. His hands are shaking, he’s covered in cold sweat and rain, and his head is absolutely _pounding_. 

_What…just happened…?_

Fear starts burrowing into his consciousness as he comes to the realization that he’d just passed out. 

_Oh, not good, not good, not good, not good._

He’s got to get up before someone sees him like this. 

His first attempt fails miserably. As soon as he sits up and tries to get to his feet, his muscles scream in protest and dizziness overwhelms him, knocking him right back down. He pants roughly, the air making his throat ache. He’s weak as a newborn foal, and probably looks about as graceful as one. Oh, this is so bad. What if he can’t get up? What if he has to call for someone to help? 

No, he can’t. He’s stronger than this. He’s got this. It’s just a stupid cold. 

He removes his pauldron, gorget, and breastplate, and it’s a little easier to breathe. He leans his head against the stone wall and focuses on drawing oxygen into his lungs. This is because he skipped breakfast for sure. He really should try to eat something for lunch, even if it’s just a piece of bread. And maybe he would, if he felt steady enough to stand. 

After a while, his hands stop shaking quite so badly and the dizziness recedes, leaving just the terrible headache and utter exhaustion in its wake. Soren takes a deep breath, begs his body to cooperate, and slowly climbs to his feet. Thankfully, this time, his legs are solid enough to hold him and he doesn’t get knocked back down by vertigo. Good enough. He coughs again into his elbow and makes his way back out to the training ground. 

The rain has slowed to a drizzle now, hardly enough to notice, but everything—including Soren’s hair and clothes—is still wet and cold. He shivers.

Surprisingly, Callum is already there on a bench with his head bent over his sketchbook. He looks up when Soren approaches. 

“Hey,” he greets. “I was wondering where you were.”

Soren’s brow furrows. “Why? Training’s not ’til one.”

“Uh, it _is_ one.” Callum tilts his head, raises an eyebrow. “Where’s the rest of your armor?”

It’s…been an entire hour? There’s no way. He couldn’t have been sitting by the water pump for a whole _hour_ , and he hadn’t heard the clock chime. He’s not…

“Hellooo? Soren?”

Callum’s waving a hand in front of his face. 

Jeez, he’s out of it. If he can’t get his head on straight maybe he really shouldn’t be swinging a sword around, even if it’s a wooden one. “Sorry. What was the question?”

Callum frowns at him, confused and maybe a little concerned. “Are you alright?”

Soren blinks. It’s getting a little hard to breathe again. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“Because you’re missing half of your armor.” Callum’s shrewd green eyes linger on his face for a brief moment. “And you look really pale.”

Panic rises in Soren’s breast. He totally forgot about his discarded armor. His chest heaves. “I was just—sparring. That’s what…what a good workout’ll do for you. You should try it sometime.” He stretches his arms out in front of him and bends sideways, ignoring the persistent ache in his muscles and praying the kid will just take the explanation. 

Of course, he does not. Callum puts his sketchbook aside and stands. He’s decently shorter than Soren, but something about being sized up makes Soren nervous and he unconsciously backs up a little. “Are you…sure? You really don’t look too good, Soren.” Something lights up in the prince’s eyes and he rubs the back of his head. “You know, you shouldn’t train with me if you’re not up to it. I don’t mind missing a day—”

“No, no, no.” It’s no secret that Callum doesn’t like sword-fighting, or any type of fighting, but Soren’s taken that as more of a personal challenge. He was entrusted with teaching the step-prince how to fight, and it’ll reflect badly on him if Callum is unable to at least defend himself in battle. “Nice try, but we’re not skipping training.”

“But you—”

“You should be focused on yourself.” He goes to retrieve the sparring swords and tosses one to the prince (which is dropped and clatters on the cobblestone). Soren rolls his eyes and tries to convince himself he’s feeling alright. He’s not—he still feels worryingly out of breath, his nose is running, he needs to cough, his body is almost unbearably heavy and every inch is in pain. Maybe he’ll cut their training short today, but he can’t allow either one of them to just skip it. 

They work on offense. He shows Callum the proper footwork and techniques and they run through them together over and over again. Soren wonders if the prince can tell how sluggish and uncoordinated he’s feeling. It’s only gotten worse since that morning. But if Callum does notice anything, he keeps his mouth shut. 

He’s demonstrating another technique for the fourth time when he feels it again. An uncomfortable chill creeps up his neck and down his arms, causing him to break into a cold sweat, and his head starts getting light. _No, no, no!_ This isn’t happening again. It _can’t_. He is _not_ about to faint right in front of Callum. He’ll…he’ll be alright if he just ignores it. If he keeps moving and powers through, it’ll go away. He thinks. 

He pulls up out of his thrust and turns to the young boy, panting. “Okay, now…now you try it.”

Callum looks unsure, but he makes a pathetic attempt. As if anticipating the scolding Soren would give him for messing up _again_ , he grimaces and sighs. “I just don’t really get how the steps work. Like, I could never remember where to put my feet if I was _actually_ fighting someone, you know?”

Soren’s breath comes in ragged pants. No matter how much he wills it away, black spots are clouding up his vision and the rushing sound is coming back. He’s gotta do…something. 

“Sorry if it doesn’t make sense to me that when you’re in battle you’d basically just start _dancing_ with the other person, but I really don’t get why—uh. Soren?”

He’s aware, on some level, that he’s just staring into space. At some point he’d put his weight on his sword, leaning on it like a crutch, and the fact that he doesn’t remember doing so is kind of alarming. He needs to answer Callum, but he has no idea what the kid had been talking about and he’s far too preoccupied with focusing on not falling over. 

“Soren?” Callum appears in front of him, big eyes wide with worry. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

A little bit of clarity comes back to him. “I’m—I’m okay.” He puts a hand on Callum’s shoulder in what’s supposed to be a reassuring gesture, but when he tries taking a step he ends up putting most of his weight on the prince’s small frame.

“Whoa—Soren—!”

His strength leaves him and suddenly he’s on his knees with his face buried in Callum’s tunic. He reaches up a shaking hand and grips his jacket. Tries to tell him that he’s fine, he just needs a minute, but soft gasps are all that come out of his mouth before he’s coughing violently.  

And then, somehow, he’s on the ground again. Callum is hovering over him and shouting something that he can’t make out. 

He feels absolutely terrible. Easily the worst he’s ever felt in his entire life. As soon as he’s down, all interest in putting up a front and powering through his illness vanishes without a trace. All he wants is his bed. And his _mother._

Things go dark and hazy for an indeterminable amount of time. The next thing he’s aware of is a cool hand on his face and voices above him. Something is pressed to his lips and then there’s liquid trickling into his mouth. It’s sweet, and he can’t help but sputter and cough when it makes its way past his tongue. 

“Come on, Sor, you need to drink it.”

That voice has him prying his eyes open. “C…Claudia?” It’s still hard to see as his head hasn’t stopped spinning, but her long, dark hair is unmistakable. 

“Yeah, I’m here.” He thinks she smiles a little. “You’re alright. Think you scared the daylights out of Callum, though.”

He tries to laugh, but it comes out as more of a pathetic groan. 

“Try to drink some of this, okay?”

More liquid is poured into his mouth, and now that his body actually recognizes what it needs to be doing, he manages to swallow it. 

“Good, Sor.”

In the back of his mind, he’s aware that he’s still on the ground in the courtyard, undeniably making a huge scene with his sister there holding up his head and helping him drink. He’s never going to live this one down. At the moment, though, he can’t be bothered to feel embarrassed, even if he would like to get in bed as soon as possible. 

When Claudia lowers the vial, he coughs again. “Wh—what happ’ned?”

His vision is slowly clearing, and he can see a look of sheer worry come over his sister’s face. She looks at the prince, who’s still hovering, but over her shoulder now. “Callum?”

“I don’t know, he just…passed out. He was really pale when he showed up. I _knew_ he shouldn’t have been training and I _told_ him that but he didn’t listen.”

Claudia looks back down at Soren and sighs. “You’re such an idiot. I told you not to push yourself too hard.” She presses a palm to his forehead. “You’re running a fever, Sor-bear. Ready to go to bed now?”

He can’t do much more than moan miserably in agreement. What an awful day this has turned out to be. 

“Alright. Callum, help me get him up.”

And it isn’t over yet, he soon learns, as they help him get upright and walking. The lightheadedness comes back almost instantly and his body sags, like there are weights tied around his limbs and torso. He gasps at the pain that spears through his head. 

“He’s heavy,” Callum groans. 

Soren almost feels bad for the two of them. He’s not much more than dead weight, hardly able to lift his legs and shivering all the while. When the cough comes back, he tries to lower his head out of courtesy. His throat is killing him.

They make their way through the castle corridors slowly. Claudia murmurs soft encouragements to him the whole time, even when he tells her he needs to stop and rest (which is more often than he wants to admit. He blames the weakness on the apparent fever). At the edges of his consciousness, he is aware of the servants and guards who stop to ask if he’s alright, and it’s absolutely humiliating to have his fellow guardsmen see him in such a state. He wishes he could just sink into the floor.

When they’re almost back to his chambers, a new voice pipes up down the hall. “Callum! There you are. I was looking for… Uh, what’re you doing?”

Soren likes Prince Ezran, even if he doesn’t always understand the kid. He’s sweet and curious and more clever than a kid his age should be. He can’t say that’s a trait he appreciates right at the moment, though. 

“Getting Soren back to his room,” Callum replies.

Quick little footsteps echo on the walls as Ezran comes closer. “Eugh. What’s the matter with him? He looks like he’s about to puke.”

“He’s not feeling well. Hey, would you mind getting the door?”

The hinges creak when Ezran pushes it open, and the relief Soren feels at the sight of his own bed is absolutely immense. His body turns to jelly as soon as he’s able to sink onto it. His head misses the pillow, but that doesn’t matter. He closes his eyes and lets out a soft sigh. 

“I sent for the court physician,” Claudia says as she begins removing the rest of his armor. “And Dad.”

_That_ has Soren picking his head up again. “Dad…?”

“Well, yeah.” She looks at him like she doesn’t understand why that would be a problem. She probably doesn’t. “He’ll want to know what’s going on.”

He groans, letting his head fall back forcefully. Of course, his father would find out what had happened eventually, but he’s definitely not thrilled about having the man here at his sickbed. If he even bothers to come, that is. Honestly Soren isn’t sure which he’d prefer.

When the armor is off, Claudia steps back with a satisfied breath and turns to the princes. “Okay, you two, you can run along. I can handle him from here.”

Callum gives a hesitant nod. “Um, sure. Feel better, Soren.”

“Get well soon!” Ezran says, lifting his little toad creature above his head and scurrying out after his brother.

He gives a little wave in thanks and instantly feels better as the door shuts behind them. 

Claudia gives his shoulder a nudge. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”

He patiently allows her to help him change. She’s the only one he would ever let do it. 

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” she asks as she holds out his nightshirt for him to slip his arms into.

“Dunno.” He coughs gently as she pulls it over his head. “Thought I could make it through the day.”

She huffs, exasperated. “You know, for a knight, you don’t really have a good sense of self-preservation.” She pulls back the bedcovers and helps him get situated under them, fluffs up his pillows, and pulls the sheets up to his chest like their mother used to do when they were little. “I wish you’d just _told_ me earlier that you were feeling sick. I’m your sister.” 

“You would’ve stopped me from going to training.”

“Yeah, and maybe then this wouldn’t have happened!” She sits on the side of the bed and gently pushes a lock of sweaty hair back from his face. “You look really awful, Sor. You gotta take better care of yourself. You didn’t eat breakfast and you—” She stops abruptly, a horrified look coming over her face. “You haven’t eaten at all today, have you?”

He looks away, wincing in guilt.

“Oh, _Soren_ —no wonder you collapsed! You’re such an idiot.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“Well, it’s worth repeating.” She gives him a sad look that makes his heart clench painfully in his chest. “I heard Callum yelling for help out in the courtyard and when I saw you on the ground…”  

His cheeks burn with something more than fever. “I’m sorry, Claudia. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Her bright green eyes wander over his face for a moment before she sighs. “It’s alright, I’m just glad you’re okay. But, please, don’t do this again.”

He gives her a small smile. “Won’t. Promise.”

“Good.” She ruffles his hair and stands up. “The doctor will be here soon. I’m gonna get some food sent up in the meantime. Is there anything you want? Soup? Jelly tarts?”

“Soup is fine.” He still feels sick at the notion of eating anything, but he definitely doesn’t have a choice in the matter now. There haven’t been too many reasons over the years for Claudia to mother him like this, but she sure is good at it. And he wouldn’t admit it, but just having her looking after him has already made him feel ten times better, at least mentally and emotionally. 

Once she’s spoken to a few servants, she returns to his bedside with a basin of water and a cloth. “So how are you feeling? Be honest.”

Soren shrugs. “Exhausted, mostly. My head and my throat hurt a lot. And I'm really cold.”

Claudia hums sympathetically. “That's the fever. You’re burning up.” 

He grunts unhappily. “This is pathetic.” 

“No, it's not. Everyone gets sick sometimes. Even you.” She wrings out the cloth and presses it to his forehead. 

“Dad's not gonna be happy with me.”

She pauses for a brief moment, some emotion passing through her eyes that he can’t quite recognize, and then resumes wiping down his face. “He knows it’s not your fault.”

Even in his feverish state, he doesn’t miss the fact that didn’t disagree with him. 

“Try not to worry about that,” Claudia says. “Just focus on resting and getting better.”

“Okay.” Hopefully he can fall asleep and just forget about this whole day. If he’s lucky, maybe he’ll even wake up feeling well again. 

Just as he closes his eyes, though, an itch flares up in his sinuses and his breathing hitches a few times before he sneezes. The force makes him groan.

“Bless you,” his sister says, gently wiping under his nose. “Poor thing.”

He gazes up at her through stinging eyes. “Thanks for taking care of me, Claudia.” He really doesn’t know what he’d do without her. 

She smiles warmly. “You’re welcome, Sor-bear. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> i actually wanted to write a good bit more, but didn't really have the patience so maybe there'll be a part two? if anybody would like that? idk there's some more deep stuff i wanted to get into but not until i know people would wanna read it. so let me know i guess!
> 
> thanks for reading!!


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